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Friday, April 18, 2014

Monster Island Musings from Achillesgirl in Actionland

THE ADORABLE POWER OF DESTRUCTION

By Achillesgirl

Not too long ago I was walking down a San Francisco street and saw a
1965 Datsun Bluebird. It was in mint condition all the way down to the
old fashioned license plate. I felt an inexplicable surge of happiness
but could not articulate it in any way so I just waved my hands around
like an idiot for a while. My companion, who knew I’m no car buff, was
baffled. I was finally able to blurt out, “It’s a Godzilla car!”

What we loved when we were children, we will always love. An object
can trigger the adult re-experience of that same simple, indiscriminate
love. Sudden remembrance can be a powerful feeling; that car almost set
me to weeping because it evoked my childhood love for kaiju movies.

When I was a tiny scrapper in the late 1960′s I watched kaiju on TV.
In Los Angeles at that time local television stations aired many
after-school dubbed Japanese shows like ”Johnny Socko”, “Kimba” and
“Speed Racer”. At night, between Bogart and Fred Astaire, I watched
Godzilla and Gamera. I watched them all thoughtlessly and with great
emotion, as impressionistic children do. When I grew up and VHS tapes
became cheap quick-buys at the drug store, I bought and watched films
like “King Kong vs. Godzilla” and “Gamera vs. Barugon”. Again,
thoughtlessly and with great emotion.

I
recently re-watched a bunch of kaiju flicks with the intent of writing
some kind of critique for Cool Ass Cinema but I quickly realized that I
am really only intrigued by the
subjective emotions that make up the world-wide kaiju phenomenon. While
we all have our reasons for loving kaiju, and we express them in many
different ways, I can actually only understand my own reasons. I will
try to explain my thoughts.

If asked, I would claim to be a “fan” but I have no interest in
learning the names of monsters, actors, or directors. I don’t want to
acquire an understanding of the genre. I don’t even care about the
plot, which usually moves too slowly for my taste. Yet I wax lyrical on
the genre simply because I have a big goopy crush on Godzilla and
Gamera, and I love the crap out of “the happy parts”.

Most of the films are quite stylish but the one I favor nowadays is
“Destroy All Monsters” (1968). The mise-en-scenes are excellent, the
sets and costumes are kitsch-tastic, and there are lady-aliens, adorable
miniatures, and tons of bitchin’ monsters.

I was just the kind of little girl who dreamed about wearing white gloves with a gold purse and high heels to a surprise beach-attack with her platonic alien guy friends.

The happy parts are totally awesome but I do demand
something more from kaiju films. My emotional requirements for them have
not matured since I was five and thus are pretty atavistic: no "bad
monster" movies because they make me sad. I do not like the evil
Godzilla. I cannot actually enjoy "Godzilla, King of the Monsters"
(1956) because no matter how truly iconic this film is, there is just
too much drama for my immature emotions. I do not want to see Godzilla
represent the ghastly fear of atomic devastation, nor do I want to see
the remarkable bravery and nobility of the Japanese survivors. I feel
great discomfort when Godzilla is a metaphor for the horrors of war. I
just need him to make me feel happy.

This is the monster I need to see. And just for the record, I never had a crush on Nick Adams.

Godzilla’s transformation from soulless instrument of mass suffering
to big goofy heroic friend in the later children’s kaiju films is, for
me, a wonderful shift. The happy-monster film was a miniature fairyland
in which my young self escaped, and in which I still occasionally like
to retreat. In that happy world humans are kind, smart and beautiful
and monsters are helpful friends; pain is toy-like and solutions are far
removed from any kind of real-world danger. In that world both
monsters and children are intrinsically kind and brave. And because
they are virtuous, they are protected and loved. They perform heroic
deeds, don’t die, vanquish evil, save the world, and then bid a fond
farewell to each other. I felt a real sense of safety in that clean,
upright, adorable 1960s Japan.

It's easy to do what's right when you're a one-dimensional hero. I probably had a crush on Akira Kubo when I was six.

Children’s kaiju films capitalize on one of children’s deepest
desires: No Parents. In these movies parents have minimal presence and
children are allowed an enormous amount of freedom. The quirky
inventor father finds nothing unnatural in expecting his child to help
him build a world-saving machine. And he totally understands his kid’s
desire to befriend a giant monster. Really, the kaiju film parent is
not a parent at all; he is a relatively powerful companion and ally. Is
this not every child’s fantasy relationship with adults? To be
protected and treated with respect? To be useful and valued? To be
free to explore and learn, and to save their friends and the world? A
dream worth striving toward.

I think that at the very same time that children identify with the
fantasy lifestyle of that one lucky little parent-free boy who gets to
hang out with a monster, they also identify with the monster. I think
kids love Godzilla not just because he is adorable but because he is
also extremely powerful. He is huge, free, spontaneous and
self-actualized. He may not be very smart but he doesn’t hesitate to
act on his intuitive righteous impulses to protect his city, the kids,
and their silly parents. He can beat up and and kill his enemies
without fear of punishment from a higher authority. He IS the
authority. He can do a crazy amount of damage, even smash an entire
city, and people don’t hate him for doing it. They love him. He is a
hero. He is a demi-god.

And let's face it, even when he was still evil, Godzilla was one adorable, goofy motherfucker.

As an adult viewer of kaiju films, I no longer identify with the
child. I am the monster. That monster is something I am very deep-down
afraid that I am, and at the same time he is who I want to be. Some of
us who have felt the effects of hard nurture on our nature can probably
sympathize with bad monsters. Human ignorance and cruelty – war,
radiation, bombs, and science – mutated them into a huge, dangerous,
horrible, aggressive beasts, and then very same assholes who created
them ruthlessly exterminate them. Ugh, such a tragedy.

King Ghidorah's magnificent beauty can't stop everybody from beating him to death.

Of course the idea of selfish, insensitive humans causing endless
amounts of needless suffering for the innocent turtles and Tyrannosaurus
Reges of the world is nothing new. I don’t know how old the
“Frankenstein” icon is but we have reincarnated him in storytelling
fairly frequently, and we probably will do so until we can find the
light and restore balance to our terrible world. In almost all these
stories Frankenstein, King Kong, Godzilla and other sad persecuted
monsters are usually understood and accepted by only one (or two if
they’re lucky) pure-hearted people. That role, the solitary voice of
righteousness and justice, is not surprisingly almost always filled by
women or children. They are there to tell us to come to our senses, and
to remind us that compassion is the only truth. Often these voices are
too gentle and weak to protect the monster. Just like real life.

Since I identify with the monster, I kinda prefer a happy ending. I
want to see those big crazy bastards be happy heroes that people love
and don’t want to exterminate. In “Destroy All Monsters” the people of
the world unite with the monsters to fight off enemies from outer space.
The message, however superficial, is one of unity. Compassion and
tolerance for monster-diversity triumphs over war, division, invasion
and fear. Everybody wins, except the evil aliens, who could just as
easily be a viral epidemic. And when the monsters’ hard work is done
they return to graze the hills of their island in peace, just hanging
out and being what they are: powerful, self-actualized, spontaneous,
adorable demi-gods. That symbolism is powerful and uplifting. I
sincerely wish the same ending for each and every one of us.

But all of this is fleeting. In the end, my little feelings are a
blink of the eye and they just don’t matter. Impermanence is life.
A sense of this “floating world” is always present in kaiju films, and
it makes them extra special to me. I always feel a worshipful awe for
the ephemeral nature of art when I see the kaiju genre’s countless incredible costumes and miniature models.

"Rodan" (1956)

Fans know about the enormous time, effort, and care that went into
these creations. Every single beautiful, skilled, detailed miniature
set was made for the sole purpose of being smashed by some guy in a
rubber suit so they could make one silly scene for one silly movie.

Like Tibetan sand paintings or champion sand castles on the beach,
these sets are true labors of love that evoke the ethereal, fleeting
nature of art and life. The moment of their destruction expresses the
duality of yin and yang; creation and destruction; life and death. When
I see these wonderful sets go down in flames and rubble, I feel all the
joy and sadness of what I perceive as a truly magnificent act of
devotion. In the end, for me, the kaiju film’s deepest meaning can be
found in their exuberant, joyful, adorable destruction. It is the true
beauty of chaos and the real meaning of love.

Or maybe this is.

I’m not sure.

***

Achillesgirl
has been a fan and friend of Cool Ass Cinema for many years. She putts
around on her FB page The Heroic Sisterhood: Ladies' Asian Action Cinema
Appreciation Society and website Actionland, and she occasionally
tweets. Hit her up anytime for free bad advice on dog training and color
coordinating your wardrobe.

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About Me

I've been a huge movie buff since childhood catching old horror and monster flicks on Shock Theater and kung fu movies at the drive-in during the late 70's and early 80's. I've had a long time fascination with, and appreciate all genres of fantastic cinema, good and bad. One fans cheese is another fans juicy steak. I like both equally and seldom find a film I truly dislike as I will find something of interest in just about anything. The bulk of the films or tv series' seen here are mostly from my childhood, or films I own in what has become an Amazing Colossal DVD collection.